


The Agency

by mysixthsenseisstubborness (Tvieandli)



Category: Soul Eater
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-30
Updated: 2013-01-30
Packaged: 2017-11-27 14:28:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/663051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tvieandli/pseuds/mysixthsenseisstubborness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Agency is an organization that works to clean up the messes the government fails to. It recruits young men, and women with little or no ties to the rest of the world who wish to come to America, or just get away from their own lives. These children are then trained, and put out into the world to purge the vermin. They have no names, no faces, and no accents. The only things they have are their skills, and their wit.</p><p>Spirit Albarn left the Agency fourteen years ago when he met his ex wife, and got her pregnant with his daughter, Maka Albarn. The only problem is you don't get to leave the Agency until it's done with you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: An Empty Bed, And A Need For Help

**Author's Note:**

> This is a full scale reboot Au. Most of the ones I do are. 
> 
> It is fully outlined, and plans for 9 chapters + epilogue, but will probably be further broken down.

The folder had been on his desk a week. A solid week of thinking, and preperating, and trying. But when he looked at it that day it was like all the answers suddenly dropped in his lap.

Suspicions that had been naught more than that shuttered into realities he didn't want to face. Real things alive in his mind. He swallowed hard, scrapped a hand over his face, and lit a cigarette. He would need help, but unfortunately, all the help was gone to him. Lost in the recesses of a violent childhood.

Trust was an empty bed in the corner of his mind. Drawers of clothes gutted, and stuffed in a long gone bag, a mattress over turned in the hurry to strip it of sheets. The absence of a note.

He reached into his desk drawer, and pulled out a file with a false name on it. The picture of a smiling, redheaded man smiled up from within, held on by a paper clip.

"I suppose you have to come home, D-boy."

The picture refused to reply, blank smile offered in place of conversation.

-

"It's final then?" Green eyes scalded blue, and he looked away from her, shame creeping up into his throat. "This is really happening?"

"She left on a boat today. Headed for New Guinea."

The scoffing sound that exploded from her throat made him jump. "I can't believe you!"

"I'm sorry, Maka." 

"No! No, papa! That's not good enough!"

The sick in his stomach roiled as she stomped away, capped off by the slamming of her door. He stared silently down at the signed papers in front of him, waiting for his pen. His ink.

"I'm sorry," He repeated. But she was right. It wasn't good enough.


	2. Chapter 1: Owing A Favor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Long time no see, D-boy," he said. He was wearing combat boots, and his steps fell heavy on the tile of the entry way when he strode over the hearth, yanking her father off the ground by his tie. "It seems we've missed you at the agency."

He spit blood onto the ground, pushing up on to his feet with a small sneer. 

"Give me a reason not to put this bullet through your skull," he said, holding the muzzle of his gun up to the back of his partner's head.

"Because I'm the only one who's going to get you out of here alive."

"Get me out of here? You're the reason I'm here in the first place."

Steely eyes turned on him, and he felt his arm fall a bit limp. "You know me," the other man said. "You know me better than anyone else in the world, and that means you know me well enough to know that everything I do is for a reason, Spirit. Nothing is outside the master plan, and if it is it's adjusting for error."

"And that's what we're doing right now?"

"Precisely," he said, turning back away. "Give me another minute he said, wedging the floss deeper into the crack between the wall, and the door. Just one more minute, and we'll be out of here.

-

 

It had been a cold day in hell when Spirit opened his front door, and immediately slammed it. Maka knew from that moment something was going terribly wrong, because her father, while often drunk, and disorderly had never once been unnecessarily rude to a guest. In fact, he was so nice to most of them- so hospitable- that many of their neighbors refused to believe that he was an alcoholic adulterer, and were completely baffled when his wife filed for divorce.

Maka watched with quiet suspicion as the door jumped inward, jostling her father, who had his back pressed firmly against it. 

Another jostle. A third. 

Her father closed his eyes, and started muttering frantically in what could only be Russian. He rarely ever spoke it in front of her. He often said that things in the past were best left there, and Ukraine was something that was definitely in his past. 

So the fact that whoever was at the door had him so bothered as to not only be outright rude, but also default to his native tongue, one he was so estranged from he no longer had an accent, lifted her from her seat on the couch, causing her to hide somewhat behind its back, kneeling on the cushions so she could peer over the top.

The door jostled a fourth time, and her father stumbled forward, throwing his hands over his head as it came clean off its hinges. A very large man stood on their porch, a lit cigarette in his hand, and a smirk on his face.

"Long time no see, D-boy," he said. He was wearing combat boots, and his steps fell heavy on the tile of the entry way when he strode over the hearth, yanking her father off the ground by his tie. "It seems we've missed you at the agency."

Maka watched as her father gaped at the man. Spirit Albarn was not the most intelligent of persons, but she had rarely ever seen him at a complete loss for words. In fact she could count the instances on one hand. When her mother came home throwing books, screaming about how he was sleeping with another woman. When he'd been informed over the phone that she'd made the valedictorian list in seventh grade. When her mother had slapped him in the face with her signed divorce papers, and left the country. And now.

His gift with words, and language in general had squeezed him through many tight spots. Her mother had told her once that she'd seen him learn languages in a matter of months when it took most people years. 

The man's smile widened, and he dropped his cigarette into Spirit's open mouth so that it rested snug in the corner of his lips. 

"I have a job for you, and honestly, it would mean a lot to me," he paused, looking over her father's shoulder, "And to your lovely daughter if you would just do it."

Spirit gave her a look, eyes wide. She made out a muttered sentence. German if she heard correctly. A plea. And then she was lost to the rest of the conversation as it devolved into some pigeoned hybrid of Russian, German, and English. On occasion she would catch full phrases but they wouldn't make any sense, or throw anything else into context such as "Ketchup you go", declared by the man, as he glared hard at her father.

Finally, Spirit relented, stepping back with his hands held before him, heal crushing the fallen cigarette into the white carpet.

"Okay."

"Get your things," the man said, handing Spirit a manilla folder with colored paper clips peeking out the sides. "You've a small trip to make."

"Aren't you coming?"

Again, the man looked at her, green eyes unnerving. "I was under the impression that I had some baby sitting to do," he declared with a kind of finality that clapped around her ears, not breaking eye contact with her so that she felt held in place despite the urge to put as much distance between them as possible.

Her father took a strange hissing gasp, starting back a bit.

"You know what that means, D-boy," the man said, her father nodded. "Don't fuck up."

-

 

The stain was never going to come out of the carpet. Spirit closed his eyes, and rested his head on the steering wheel. That stain was never going to come out of the carpet. Fourteen years, and a lifetime of hiding later, and everything had come rushing back again, this time leaving a physical stain on his life. One that would never, no matter how hard he tried, fully come up off the carpet. A little black smear on the white of shag. Cigarette ash.

He swore at the hard plastic that covered the air bag. This wasn't his car. This wan't his nice, expensive car. He'd hot wired this thing. He'd dump it off in a ravine, and then he'd steal a bike back into town. He was the one who lit the cigarette this time. The kerosine in the passenger's seat looked at him judgmentally.

He puffed smoke at it, and sneered in it's blank, red-orange face before starting the car. Somewhere in the back, he could hear his gun laughing. The suppressor forgotten in it's case made the thing sound raucous, and boisterous. That gun had been the embodiment of the memories of the Agency for fourteen years. The voice in his head that told him he was only running. Fourteen years.

What was he going to do? How was he going to save Maka from his past?

The ravine he chose was about a mile outside of a small town, and when he'd rolled the car into it, he took the kerosine, and drenched the thing. Whoever owned the car would collect well on insurance when they found out about this, he was sure. He flicked the cigarette onto the drowning corpse of the vehicle, and remembered as the flames started, being fifteen, standing in the middle of the desert, smoking beside burning cars, and clinking beer bottles together.

It was strange. He'd been so wild then. So young, and so uncontrollable. It was such a stark contrast to now. Though he still drank, and though he hadn't really settled down. Though he was still a bit wild, he wasn't as insane as he'd been. Now, he drew no joy from this.

This was like a doomsday march to a familiar dirge. Slowly, he turned away from the burning car, and walked toward the town, brief case in his hand. He was going to die this way. He was going to leave a beautiful little girl alone. Alone in the care of the state. Or worse: His previous employers.

-

 

Maka hated the smell of cigarette smoke. There was barely anything in the world more offensive. Stein of course had a cigarette in his mouth at almost all times. A cigarette in his mouth, and a coke in his hand.

His eyes stayed glued to her for an hour. Silence permeating the room as he sat, feet up on the table, and glasses tilted so that they caught the light. Making it hard for her to return the awkward eye contact.

On the television, the Tudors played on mute, but neither of them payed any mind to the over dramatized reenactment of Henry VIII's antics. Maka ground her teeth.

"Who are you? she asked, angrily. He smiled, and took a sip of his cola, but neglected to say anything in return. "Who- are- you?" she reiterated. 

"Friend of your father's."

"Don't look like a friend to me."

His smirk gave way to an amused snort as he took another sip of cola. 

She wished that glares doubled as daggers, but failed to wound him with her eyes.

-

Spirit happened through the door at around two in the morning, Head hung, and suit jacket draped over his shoulder. The brief case in his hand a heavy reminder of all the things he couldn't control.

Inside, the lights were still on, but HBO had devolved into an endless stream of silent infomercials that went, still largely unnoticed by the two people sitting on the couch. Maka, arms crossed, and customary glare in place, stared at Spirits other kind of ex, while Stein looked at him.

"Proof?" He asked.

Spirit sighed, heavily, pulling out a blood stained business card. "I would have brought you the head, but that seemed a little too messy, and a little too obscene."

The smirk on Stein's face held true to his usual sick sense of humor. "I still like the present, he said, and snatched it out of the air, when it was spun in his direction. "You've passed your test, Spirit." Stein looked the card over more closely, smelling it, running his tongue along the edge. Maka tensed in her seat. "Your skills may be a little rusty, but you're still operational. You'll be working with us again."

"What's so important?" Spirit asked. The anger in his voice was only a fraction of the anger in his chest. Anger that tensed his arms, and made his fists shudder.

"Nothing really," Stein said playfully. "Likely just the end of everything as we know it, but that's not important now. What is important is you. You coming home, and us working together again. Express orders from the head himself, my friend."

"Why don't I believe you?"

"It's important you do, D-boy. We have a few hard contracts, and the Agency needs it's best operative back in action regardless of rust."

Spirit glared, trying to ignore Maka's silent questions. She would be asking them in the morning, hands hard on his shirt sleeve.

"I'm not leaving my family."

"Oh really?" Stein's face mocked surprise before devolving back into glee. "Because as I hear it you don't have much of a family these days. What with the wife, and all. Or should I say ex-wife? The average life didn't work out for you too well, did it, D-boy?"

Spirit's teeth ground. He didn't say anything too caught up in his mind. Thoughts of his wife- ex wife- circulated through his head. Fights. Blame. He swallowed it all.

"Well you wouldn't know would you?"

Stein laughed quietly. "I never would have needed to," he said. "Don't worry about it much, alright? I won't make you leave your 'family'," the finger quotes felt unnecessary so far as Spirit was concerned. "You'll be living here, pretending to be normal. And you'll be checking in with me, your new boss."

Spirit grimaced as Stein stood, gathering himself slowly to his feet. "I'll see you tomorrow, D-boy," he said. More of a demand than anything. Spirit wanted to view it as a request, but couldn't. "Bright and early. Nine o'clock. At the Agency." He patted Spirit on the shoulder, and moved for the door, throwing a "And I'll be watching everything," like a bomb behind him.

Hinges squeaked, and latches clicked, and the door fell shut with a weighted thud behind the man, plunging what was left of the Albarn family into silence.

"Papa?" Maka asked warily. 

He didn't say anything, rounding the couch to pick up the old, ash tray, now filled with cigarette butts. Some of them were still warm. One was still smoldering.

"Don't worry about it, Maka. Everything's going to be alright." He hoped internally that his petty assurances would keep her questions at bay for a while.

**Author's Note:**

> Operatives:  
> 1st class:  
> • Death Scythe: Spirit Albarn  
> • Frankenstein: No name given  
> • Longbow: Asuza Yumi  
> • Mjolnir: Marie Mjolnir  
> • The Law: Justin Law (Internal Affairs)  
> • Teddy or Teddy Bear: Tezca Tlipoca  
> • Death The Kid: No name given (Management, and dispatch)  
> • Cannonball: Tzar Pushka  
> • Jinn: Djinn Galland  
> • Axe: Dengu Dinga  
> • The Conquerer: Alexander  
> • The Princess: Zubaidah  
> • Monkey Boy: Enrique  
> • The Russian: Feodor  
> 2nd class:  
> • Dead Man: Sid Barett  
> • Mummy: Mira Nygus  
> Spartan Unit:  
> • RW or Raccoon Witch: Kim Diehl  
> • Jack O' Lantern or Jackie: Jaqueline Dupree  
> • Gauntlets: Kilik Rung  
> • Oxford: Ox Ford  
> • Harvard: Harvar D. Éclair  
> • Black Star: No name given  
> • Camilla: Tsubaki Nakatsukasa  
> • Soul Eater: Seth Evans  
> • Scythe Girl: Maka Albarn  
> • Liztte or Liz: Elizabeth Thompson  
> • Patty Cake, or Patty: Patricia Thompson  
> The Old Ones:  
> • The Kishin: Azura  
> • The Reaper: No name given  
> • Eibon: nng  
> • Excalibur  
> Unknown Operatives:  
> • Noah  
> • Gopher  
> • Chainsaw: Giriko  
> • Clown: Madness Clown  
> • Mosquito  
> • Arachne  
> • Eruka  
> • Medusa  
> • Chrona  
> • Ragnarok  
> • Frog: Eruka  
> • Freedom: Free  
> • The Samurai: Mifune  
> • The Five Mice: Mizunes 1-5  
> • Reginald Spencer: The White Rabbit  
> 3rd Class:  
> • Teacher's Pet: Hiro  
> • Red Star: Hoshi Akane  
> • Long Sword: Clay Sizemore
> 
> nng = No name given


End file.
